The Heat of the Moment(s)
by lepouletfou
Summary: It's mating season and Judy Hopps is...dealing with it. Nick lends a paw in the best way he knows how. Everyone's an endearing mess when there are hormones and biology and love involved.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _ **Oops. My hand slipped and I wrote a little WildeHopps smut. Don't know if I'll continue after this chapter, or not. There's feelings in here, for sure. But I feel like it was bound to happen sooner or later. I'm supposed to be on vacay for goodness' sake! Yet here I am. I hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated! Feel free to reach me on my tumblr too! lepouletfou**_

.

.

.

.

.

"You're late."

" _But_ …I'm still here. Where's the self-effacing optimism, Carrots?"

"Just get inside, Nick."

"Cutting to the chase already, I see. No foreplay. I like a bunny with a plan."

The joke falls flat. Not because it's particularly unfunny, but because she's _very particularly_ horny, and the synapses in her brain are firing off and not reaching the correct neurotransmitters. There is no reflexive eye roll. And at this point, she's desperate: arms flailing, toes curling, paws-yanking-you-through-the-threshold type of desperate. But it's not like she has any control over this behavior. _Mating_ season. Heat. Her body is under siege by dumb biological hormones and the only remedy is–

 _Him._

Or, at least, certain parts of him. Thank goodness for friends, right?

But Judy finds that it's the most irritating thing ever. He'd never let this go. She's sure of it. A big _believer_ in many things, she knows there's an affronting truth in her friend's ability to let her embarrassing moments fester. Teasing is his religion, after all.

He places a paw on the small of her back. It's feathery and cradles her a bit like she's breakable. It's a little touch, really, but– _but–_ but her senses are amplified by an alarming thousand percent ( _alarming_ because it's usually scaled to one hundred, and she's normally a by-the-metric type of bunny), and her back turns to liquid.

A month ago, the image of her and Nick intertwining like this would not have even crossed her line of sight. If someone had told her so, she would've stamped a traffic ticket to their forehead and cited them for being out of bounds. In high school, she'd had an awkward first encounter with a buck. Like the dreamer Judy was, she'd wanted the experience to be perfect; laundered sheets, passionate kisses, Kitty Purry crooning _Teenage Dream_ in the background. But her dream of perfection, much akin to the young buck's orgasm, was premature. Her hopes for sex weren't necessarily _crushed_ per se, but her prospective need for it sure diminished before the song reached its pop-y chorus.

But now? With Nick? _Now…_

Her desire is insatiable. His lips are on hers, and they push and pull and breathe in a syncopated dance that's all too familiar. Filling every downbeat, there's a brush of air on her nose. His breath billows over her. The rhythm is intoxicating. And, there he goes again. A touch. _Small_. Ripples turn into waves, and suddenly the moans are crashing out of her before he even gets her clothes off.

"Wow, it looks like I have my work cut out for me tonight. You sure you gonna last there, Fluff?" he steadies his hand over the waistband of her pajama bottoms. There's the teeniest silk thread that's snaking its way out, and she hopes her shorts have half a mind of their own to just unravel and dissolve. Nick's pace is agonizingly slow.

"Shut up," is all that she manages. But the epithet does not translate as friendly or sardonic. It comes out all breathy. Frantic. She's hissing into him, and her voice seethes with want. "You're the one that's being _slow_."

Quick on the uptake, Nick swiftly grips the back of her knees. There's a fleeting moment where she believes she's going to flip backward, but muscle memory is an incredible thing, and her arms are tangled around his neck, and his lips find a way back to hers.

She clutches the collar of his shirt. "All of this. I want it off. Now." It's a string of semi-coherent phrases, and somewhere between fabric discarding and preoccupied paws, her fur bristles at the loss of contact with his mouth.

When everything's off and the clothes are littering the floor and their bodies are free of barriers, she presses her nose into the ruff of his neck and inhales. Deep, slow, and languid. Fed the musk from his fur until the oxygen is no longer stagnant apartment air – it's _Nick._ She's drowning in him. She decides she likes the vulnerability.

"God, you're gross," he sneers, smushing her cheeks in his palms. "I just got back from the gym and I haven't even showered yet. All at your _bizarre_ request."

"It's because I hate your shower gel," she says. Not an outright lie, but it's still skirting the core of the issue. Nick's natural odor is thick and inebriating, and she can't get enough of it. This heat cycle hearkens to every single carnal instinct of hers and screams _mate! Mate! MATE!_ And suddenly she wants to mark him, smell him, and claim him. So she tells the truth. "...Also because I really like the way you smell."

And the words, " _Nick, I can't get enough of your scent and this heat is making me crazy and I need every single part of you_ " is terribly out of character, and completely off-script from their typical banter.

And _hating his shower gel_ seems to fit more comfortably in the dialogue. But it's all out there.

Thankfully, he just boops her nose and kisses her forehead. "I like the way you smell too."

Now come the fingers. Slick. One, two, _th-three_ – sweet cheese is he good at what he does. Like a well-oiled machine, he has the technicalities down perfectly. Pretty soon, he's coaxing more sounds from her, and it's a symphony of whimpers that Nick is orchestrating with the flit of three fingers. Judy lurches a little, and catches his lips in between every stroke.

"God, it's really bad tonight," she croaks, voice a little dampened from her throat catching.

"Really? From all this verbal affirmation, I'd say I'm doing pretty well."

"N-No, it's not you. _You're_ amazing. It's the heat. It's really _really_ bad and I don't think this will be enough. We're going to have to move like, ten times faster than we normally do."

"Huh. Always way too eager for the payoff."

" _Nick!_ This is serious. This isn't the time to joke-hahhhhH-" and he's pressing his fingers even deeper now - "G-Good God. You're the devil, you know that?"

He smirks. "So says your Pop-Pop."

"You _know_ what I mean. Nick, I can't-"

He flips Judy over – purposely ungraceful – and she laughs as her ears spread crookedly across the mattress. Nick rubs his snout against gentle grey neck, and she giggles at the sensation of his stubble.

"C'mon, I'm here to help, remember? Now hold steady…and, uhh, breathe." His mouth is still where her neck is, and the warm air of his words prickle against her skin.

"Yup, I'm breathing. Steady and everything. I'm ready."

He's still a little unsure, still a little apprehensive. Even after _x_ amount of times like this, an overly cautious claw is fluttering down her arm, and she's feeling weirdly delicate again. _Prey: Handle With Care_.

"You're not going to break me, you know."

" _Judy,_ give me a minute, I'm trying to concentrate here."

"For what purpose? We've been doing this how many times now?"

Gone is his expression of mirth. "I just don't want to hurt you. I mean, as strong as you are…I just care about making this whole thing feel good for you." And on his face, there's genuine care and worry and security and Judy bites her lip because she literally has a kink for his protectiveness.

So in traditional Judy Hopps fashion, she takes initiative and rolls her hips forward, loosening up as she takes him. She's the trier, after all. And he just needs a little more… _pushing_. Either that, or her heat has shoved out all sensibility from her brains and maybe she _is_ going way too fast.

But, screw it.

She thrusts once more, clenching around him.

"A-Ahhh, _God_ , that feels good," Nick moans, shaky and caught somewhat off-guard. "But give a guy a warning?"

"Not in a million years."

He rolls into her, simultaneously rubbing a forefinger against her and she short circuits for a second.

"Hey, no fair! I was just getting the upper-paw."

" _Not in a million years_ , this is all about taking care of _your_ incessant needs, remember?"

She huffs, realizing he's right.

What will happen when her needs don't need tending to anymore? The thought is unnerving, really. Judy doesn't know if it's the hormones or if it's just him. She's starting to fantasize in russet much too frequently, and her harmless daydreams trail off into a feverish haze of reds, oranges, and greens until she's frustratingly dialing his number and finagling another meet-up with him. And she not only wants Nick, but she thinks she's beginning to _need_ him too –

His hips roll into a steady cadence, and her train of thought whizzes and slices out of her, and Judy's mind is a blank slate again.

Her eyes snap shut, and there are stars dancing behind her eyelids. "Gah, _Nick,_ I think, I'm – _oh._ " She's approaching that threshold at lightning speed. And tonight, she doesn't even have time to savor every moment. To let his kisses linger, to reach down and touch him, to burn this night into long-term.

He bends his muzzle and kisses the top of her head. "Right here for you, Judes."

And that's it.

That's what does her in.

Burying her screams in his chest, she's bunching his chest fur in her paws (was this hurting him? If she could think for herself right now, she'd apologize), and she's suddenly seeing her train of thought speeding down the hill, off the tracks and into the wind. Everything is white.

"N-Nick! Please you can co – _I love y-_ "

 _Oops._

One more thrust. Actually, _two_. And it briskly prompts his descent into ecstasy. He's bursting all inside her, and he's muttering her name into the pillow, and putting claw marks in her bedpost.

And, now –

 _Oh._

There's a very noticeable knot inside of her. On other nights, they'd been able to work around it. But tonight, in horny overexertion (or…something more), they'd both apparently failed to realize the _very real_ reality of dealing with canine reproduction.

"Oh my god. Judy, I'm sorry. I tried to – Are you okay?"

She shifts a bit. Readjusts. "Actually…" she's wincing, but it has less to do with pain and more to do with what she'd blurted out earlier, "…yeah. I'm great."

"Because if you aren't, I-I think that maybe we can–"

" _No._ I'm serious. Maybe what I'm going through right now is making me overzealous anyway – so it's probably mostly my fault for pushing it – but…I swear. You're _not_ hurting me. At all."

He softens. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But when we get unstuck, I'm making you watch all the Meg Lion movies."

His laugh tinkles and breaks the bareness of her tiny apartment. " _Fine._ But you're lucky we have the day off tomorrow."

* * *

It's fifteen minutes later, and they're still very much stuck together. They don't seem to mind, though.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? This is all a clever guise to _avoid_ the Meg Lion movies." She aims for lightness, hoping it's not a lazy shot in the dark. She's glad he doesn't bring anything up, or maybe he didn't hear? She wonders how much worse fox hearing is in comparison to a rabbit's.

"I would never! Kate and Leodore is a _classic_!" He's game for teasing. That's good.

"And I thought you were more of an Anastasia kind of fox."

"Because her love interest is a conman? That's mighty presumptuous of you," he replies, tugging on her ear, "and quite honestly, _blatant_ discrimination."

"Pfft, Nick. Stop it."

"Or what?"

Always the devious rabbit, she wriggles underneath him, pulsing around his length. She snorts as she hears him curse under his breath. "Or… _that._ " She feels a wetness that's a mixture of both of them creep down her thigh.

"Now that's just cruel, Carrots."

"What are you going to do about it?"

And the next words just about die in her throat. They're all bottlenecked at the base of her neck because he has a finger back down _there,_ and he's stroking it with intent to ruin her.

"And would you _look at that._ There's that cute little face."

No reply. No time for a comeback. Not when she's literally _getting_ one.

Thank goodness for Nick.

* * *

It's twenty-two minutes later, and they finally slide apart.

She tries not to moan too disappointedly during the loss of intimacy.

Her mind slowly reawakens, and the blank slate is covered in a jumble of thoughts and images again. Her gaze wanders over to Nick, snout pointing to the ceiling and fingers splaying across his chest in picture perfect afterglow contentedness.

When this is all over? Then, what?

"Hey, uhh, Nick?"

One of his ears flit forward and angles itself in her direction. His eyes meet hers. "What's up, Carrots?"

The heat cools into a simmer, and she slips into a candor that's just genuinely her. She realizes it _is_ Nick. She needs him because she _loves_ –

Him.

And, in addition, certain parts of him.

"What I said earlier, did you hear any of that? When we were…you know?"

"Ahh, the ' _I love you?'_ Yeah. I did hear that." He makes a move for her paw, and she's surprised at how such an innocent gesture could carry the weight of a thousand insinuations. She crawls up to his side and nestles her face in the contours of his chest.

He clears his throat, continuing, "Did you mean it? Or was it just…heat of the moment?"

"What? Nick, of _course not._ I would never say something that serious and not mean it."

His fingers trace a line down her back, and her spine tingles with every graze. There's something that hints at relief in his eyes, but it's shrouded in green and secrecy. Finally, "I love you too."

"You do?" The validation is close to euphoric.

"Partially the reason why I was less careful in not _knotting_ you."

"Because…"

"Carrots, I don't want to give you an evolutionary lesson on vulpine knotting, but let's just say that saying _I love you_ is a surefire way of making me _want_ to get stuck to you."

And she's still reeling. "Because _you love me_."

He snorts. "Hah. Yeah. I do. So what's next then? For us?"

"Well, I've still got twelve more days left in my heat cycle."

"And you're planning to _ride it out_ 'til then?"

Judy exhales obnoxiously through her nose and lands a punch on his shoulder. "Hey, don't joke! We're talking about precious feelings here. _Your_ precious feelings, mostly."

"Says the girl who said 'I love you' first…" a boyish hopefulness casts itself over his face, "But…we'll figure it out, right?"

"After all this is over? Definitely."

She reaches for his paw this time, and they settle back into a comfortableness that's all them. _Only_ them. And for once, her mind is at ease.

 _Definitely_.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ _Hi everyone! I've uploaded this chapter as a sort of prequel building up to the current state of their relationship. Less smut this chapter, more feels! (Also, *slightly* more realistic biological explanations about rabbit estrus cycles)._

 _Also, more smut will be coming in the next installment (like funny, slightly awkward and totally endearing first-time fox and bunny type intertwining). I decided to break it up a little since it would most likely be way too long for one chapter. This chapter seems less poetic in nature to the first one, but I'm thinking that once Judy and Nick bump uglies, it'll settle back into the same cadence I had in the first chapter? (I hope) And also, idk if rabbits really CAN go into heat without a mate. But, for the sake of this fic, let's suspend our belief for that teensy bit of creative liberty lol? ;D_

 _(you wouldn't know the weird things I've googled to study for this chapter)_

 _tumblr: lepouletfou_

.

.

.

.

.

 ** _Three Weeks Earlier_**

This…was _not_ happening _._ It couldn't be happening. This _far-fetched_ idea had transcended beyond hypothetical and neared the biologically impossible.

Judith Laverne Hopps: ZPD's well respected, first rabbit police officer. Ending a divisive race war with her fox partner, Nicholas Wilde. Joining the echelons of high-ranking detectives and lieutenants. Solving cases. Saving lives–

Judy Hopps: Female, twenty-five, two days into heat cycle.

 _Stop it._ _ **Stop**_ _it!_

But, inscrutably, it _was_ happening.

And here Judy Hopps was, ripping open cardboard boxes in her moldy storage unit. Clouds of dust bloomed and traipsed in the air as she frantically dumped out book after book from a container labeled ' _high school.'_

"Ugh, where is it? Where is it? Where _IS IT_!?"

The " _it"_ she was looking for was a textbook from her adolescent health class. Granted, Judy had passed that course – like many other ones – in flying colors and kaleidoscopes of rainbows. Her mind was a vacuum of studied notes (information rarely fell out), and she surmised she could still ace those impromptu quizzes easily. But her search was more for validation rather than an informational field trip. She _needed_ to see those words. Her brain needed a tangible, tactile thing to absorb and confirm every restless thought that had blossomed in the past forty-eight hours.

The books thudded to the floor. The Reign of Napoleon Bunnyparte from history, Swinestein's Theory of Relativity from physics, The Great Catsby from English. They all crashed to the ground, and with every thud it was like some flipbook time machine, working her way back until she was nestled at her desk in Bunny Burrow High, pressing pencils to her paper and grinning animatedly at all of her teachers.

And finally, there it was. Nearly snuffed out by the heavier textbooks above it. When Somebunny's Ready by Margaret O'Hare.

She fumbled to page fifty-two. She _still_ knew the page number.

| ** _Chapter Five - Ovulation:_** _Unlike canines or felines, the rabbit does not 'go into heat' or show signs of regular estrus cycles (recurring periods of sexual desire). Such only happens when the female rabbit begins mating. Ovulation begins at an estimated 10 hours afterward._ |

Yes, she nodded to herself. Yes, that _would_ make sense. Everything _would_ be peaches and cream except she _hadn't_ been mating with anyone to stimulate any sort of heat cycle. Was there some sexual fine print she was missing here? Or was she just some sort of biological anomaly?

| _Rabbit cycles have an approximate duration of 22 – 28 days_ |

Yes, sure. These were facts she already knew.

| _What's the best way to prevent STDs or an unwanted pregnancy?_ _A: Abstinence_ |

Kind of a trick question, she thought, but she knew the answer to that one as well.

At last, somewhere in the maelstrom of all the sexual technical jargon and anatomical artistry, a small paragraph popped up and offered itself unstintingly.

| _In more rare cases, a female rabbit's estrus cycle_ _ **can**_ _be induced in the absence of sexual mating. A close companion can spur strong feelings of partnership and security, thus instigating a heat cycle without any physical mating to prompt it._ |

The words glared at her from the yellowed pages of her textbook.

"Partnership," she murmured. "Partnership..." Her voice broke through the dust and obscurity.

It was all clear.

It was –

 _Nick_.

And in shock, or surprise, or terrifying realization (for all she knew, it was probably a mix of all three), she dropped the Margaret O'Hare into the landslide of texts circling her feet. Another bout of dust spurted from the floor and nearly suffocated her this time.

She really should have just stayed at home.

* * *

What would you say to your _best friend_ when your body – of its own volition, and totally unbeknownst to you – chose them as its heat-induced target?

Where was the textbook for that?

And what would you say to your best friend when they pressed their muzzle between your ears to see your phone screen and _oh God this is starting to feel wildly erotic and way out of line_ _because we're in the office and_ because– because –

" _Nick,_ stop it! You're going to mess up my fur!"

He looked down, scoffing. "Since when were you ever concerned about appearances? That's my job, Hopps."

"Hah!" She swiveled in her chair to meet him, glancing at his police uniform. Sleeves rolled, shirt un-tucked, orange fur unkempt at the collar. Not to mention his bean burrito was wilting over his hand, its contents flirting with gravity. Appearances? _Sure_. "Oh really now?"

" _Really_. I'm the looks behind this whole operation. You're the brains." He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then recanted, "Actually, no. 'Fraid I'm the brains too. Sorry, Fluff."

Judy's eyes kept flitting down to the fur around his collar. She tried refocusing her, err, _energy_ on making her gaze as steely as possible. "You're _insufferable_ , Nick."

"Aww, and you know you love me too."

"Hmm. Don't know if I really know that right now."

It was _such_ an ordinary conversation. Insult here, sarcastic quip there. It was all routine and fairly innocuous. But there was an electrical charge to the air, zapping Judy's skin and bringing forth something a lot more lascivious.

 _Stop it._ _ **Stop**_ _it!_

Her body had a funny way of betraying her though (it seemed to be the theme lately), because her eyes traveled _back_ down to the ruffle of cream on his neck, and at this point, her eyeball activity was not going unnoticed.

"All right. I get it, Fluff."

The blood drained from her face. _Crap. "_ Wh-what?"

"You keep looking at my collar. I _get it_."

"I…I don't know what you mean. I wasn't…"

"I'll _button_ it! Geez, you're such a stickler for uniform protocol. But for the record, we _are_ on our lunch break, and a fox is allowed some neck room when he's off the clock."

Oh. _That_. Judy thanked her normal, non-heat self for being such a perfectionist that the lewder, more primal side of her had no chance of seeping out. The past few days had been hard to navigate, and it was like an intruder had crept into her usually organized brain and rearranged the compartments. _Who put the Nick box on the oxytocin shelf?_

She tried to ignore how relieved she felt when Nick buttoned his shirt. Because, really _._ Friends did _not_ fantasize about each other like this. The hormones did a tantalizing dance up and down her spine and Judy felt it was a losing battle.

"Uh, Carrots?" Nick waved his burrito in her face, holding it aloft. "You good there? You're clenching your phone pretty hard."

The hormones did a victory march down her arm. "Huh? Oh yeah…umm, sorry. I was just…thinking about…"

"What? Are you still disappointed Fangmire snagged that subway case?"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" he asked, perplexed. "You've been antsy all day. Don't think I haven't noticed."

She sighed, wringing her paws in the air as she chewed over her next words carefully. One misstep and her perfectly curated act would crumble like a house of cards. "I've just been a little… _under the weather_. I haven't been feeling like myself."

"Is that so?"

"Yup. So, uhh, maybe you should back off a little? Wouldn't want to get you sick or anything."

Nick's left eye twitched. A small little tremor, but it seemed to taunt her, and suddenly she felt interrogated. He scooted closer to her. "Really?"

"Mhmm, I–"

And right there, in their tiny cubicle, Nick's face was inches from hers, and his paw was intimately pressed against her forehead.

" _Nick!_ What are you doing?"

"You don't _feel_ sick to me, Carrots. And, quite frankly, you don't look it, either." His finger moved down to her nose, and _sweet peas and carrots why was he being so touchy?_ "Also, your nose doesn't feel crusty or dry."

She shoved his paw away, out, out, _out_ from her sphere of hormones and discomfort. They were really starting to skirt the danger zone. "Stop it! I'm just saying, I can sense a cold coming on. I'm thinking ahead and being proactive. Something _you_ should try."

"Testy, much? Just giving my best friend the full Dr. Wilde medical onceover."

"You got that medical license online. For a past _hustle_ ," she guffawed, "That doesn't make you an official M.D."

"Ouch. Where's the vote of confidence? Here I was _,_ trying to be protective and look out for you." He sighed melodramatically and Judy tried to ease the tension that displayed itself in every line of her body.

"Sorry, Nick. You were just in my space a little. It took me by surprise."

"Ahh, I see. Weird, though – it's never bothered you before. But I'll stop. Sorry."

And thank _Marian_ he did _._ She was teetering so close to the edge that she was looking straight down into a well of involuntary emotions. Judy was pretty proud of herself for reining it in though. Surprisingly, this hormonal battle may have been a winning one after all. Lunch was almost over, and there were exactly four more hours in her shift. She _could_ make it! She could –

And then Nick started tickling the base of her ears, grinning at her wryly.

Of course. Of _course_ he'd continue to mock her like this because when did Nick ever not?

But his claws were starting to feel a little bit too _sensual_ against her skin, and the carnal side of her brain started to take hold of every last shred of logic and cautiousness. There was an odd, fizzy sensation pooling in the base of her stomach, and it rose up, up, up and gave way to – oh no. _Couldn't_ do it. _Wouldn't_ do it.

"AhhHHh! N-Nick!"

 _That._

She moaned. She just _freaking_ moaned.

Judy snapped back to reality, clasping her hands together. She didn't even chance a look at Nick or any of the other officers who no doubt turned their heads to see what all the noise was about. With newfound elegance and grace that was certainly not reflected seconds before, she scooted back, hopped off her chair, and quietly walked out of the office.

For a moment, she hesitated. After this, then what? Was she going to ignore Nick? Let her weird sexual moan lay out in the open to mold and rot as their last interaction? Never talk to him again because _oh I'm a dumb bunny and my dumb hormones made everything awkward?_ The notion was entirely juvenile.

No, she would be an adult about this. Judy Hopps was _still_ Judy Hopps. So she made sense of the chaotic disarray and lifted her phone out of her pocket to text him.

 _"_ _Hey, sorry about that. Meet me at the Snarlbucks around the corner in 10? I need to talk to you."_

Exhaling a breath of relief, she realized she _really_ needed to take a personal day.

* * *

Apparently there _was_ a way to tell your best friend you were in heat. It was –

"Nick, I'm in heat."

And the simplicity of the confession was nearly laughable because everything that burdened it was so not very simple, and now she was staring into her coffee cup and averting his gaze because she really did not know what she'd find in his expression.

Nick slid her coffee cup out of view. _Jerk._ That was her refuge mug!

"Carrots, will you look at me? I don't know if I heard you correctly. You're... _what_?"

She tilted her chin, elated to discover that his expression bordered more on confusion than disgust. "Err...I'm in heat?"

"As in _heat_ heat? Your mating cycle?"

Judy nodded.

"As in like, hormones and wanting to boink and all that jazz?"

Another nod. _Please don't say 'boink.' Not when I'm looking at you and that's all I'm trying to avoid doing right now._ She was glad they were in a place that was very much public, because without the clamor of Snarlbucks busybodies, she wasn't sure how much she could maintain common decency.

"Carrots," realization seemed to flicker across his face, "Is that why you let out that porno moan earlier?"

"Nick! Please, this is so _embarrassing_! I can't bear having you making jokes about this."

"What? This is nothing to be embarrassed about. It's natural."

She hid her face behind a floppy, wayward ear. "I know it is! But now I have to deal with the entire precinct getting a firsthand preview of what I sound like in bed."

"Okay, true, but that'll be news for what? A day? Then there'll be a mass murder, a robbery, or some mundane police gossip that'll make all of them forget about your little performance."

It was disturbing how the mention of a mass murder could placate her, but it did. Her shoulders relaxed, and finally some of the discomfort loosened its grip. "Y-yeah…you're right."

"As I always am," he smirked, then gently nudging her paw. " _So_ , who's the lucky buck, huh?"

"What?"

"Who's the lucky guy? Don't rabbits only go into those cycles when they've mated with someone already?"

 _Why yes,_ another delightful layer in this never-ending delightfully awkward conversation.

She coughed, thumping a fist against her throat. "I haven't been with anyone."

"But that doesn't make any sense?" he said, brow knitting into a single straight line, "How is that even possible?"

God, she _couldn't_ say it. _Wouldn't_ say it. But she squeezed her eyes shut, braced for the impact, and let the truth tumble out in one gigantic avalanche. "Nick! I'm in heat because of you!"

And silence.

She sighed a groan out from her lips, and something resembling agony clung to its exhale. "Look, Nick, I'm really sorry. But…it's true. In rare occasions, bunnies _can_ go into heat if they have a close partner, or friend, and it can, uhh, _cause_ these cycles to happen without having an actual mate."

Nick continued to stare at her, but she couldn't quite place his expression. There was more silence, and her ears started ringing from its deafening weight.

"And…I'm _not_ asking you to do anything at all! That's not what I'm implying!" she insisted, "I'm just letting you know because I thought that…it would've been better to communicate openly. And, from what I can tell now…I…umm…" her sentence garbled and cracked. _Oh no, Judy, get it together! Don't ruin this, don't ruin this…great, you're going to ruin this because you couldn't keep yourself in check_ , "…I guess that was a mistake, and it's abundantly clear that I made things awkward, and I'm really sorry. And you know what? Can we just forget this ever happened and that I didn't mess up our friendship?" she shook her head, more at herself than him, "Nick, can you please say something? _Anything?_ I'm kind of freaking out here."

He blinked at her rapidly, flashes of green and orange in her line of sight. "Carr – umm, _Judy_ , I don't think we _can_ forget about this."

She simpered at his response, her eyes darting back to gaze in the safety of her coffee cup. "I…I get it. But I'm not in love with you or anything, I swear. I didn't have a choice? I really didn't want to make you uncomfortable…"

"Wait, it's not that, I –"

"I'm _really_ sorry, Nick." She shuffled away, pointing a thumb and index finger out in a popgun toward the door. "I'm…going to go. I'll see you tomorrow? Maybe?"

"Judy, hold on!"

But she was out before his voice had a chance to reach her. She was balmy with sweat and humiliation, and it made the cold outside air a lot more welcoming.

She anticipated at least another month like this, and she really needed to tie it down. Not even having reached the apex of her cycle yet, and she shuddered at the thought of it possibly _feeling any worse_. The rush of pheromones was swirling up her limbs and wound itself around her neck, outstretching and resting smugly on her shoulders. The heaviness was chafing.

Not only that, but it had sent her straight into a fit of horny moans and gawky truth slobber and straight into a pile of friendlessness and _I don't think we can forget about this_. And Nick wasn't just _Nick_ anymore, he was the ex-best friend, kind of actually very attractive russet fox who had become the bane of her heat-hazed existence. And in a hallucinatory moment, she thought his imaginary form had flown out from her mind and onto the street because Nick was standing right here in front of her… _wait_.

"N-Nick?" she rasped.

"Yes, Carrots, it's me," he said. He was breathing raggedly, and she realized he must've run after her when she quickly scuttled out. "Please, would you just let me explain myself?"

"It's really okay. I understand, and I think I already know what you're going to say." She made a move to turn around, but he shot his paws out, holding shivery rabbit shoulders beneath them. Judy tried not to yelp (or _moan_ , if her body still wanted to play games).

"Would you stop trying to run away from every situation? _Please?_ You've done that twice already, and I can't handle anymore abandonment today."

Slowly, she bobbed her head.

"Look, I know it seems like I kind of…freaked out back there. I was just surprised, that's all. And what I meant by not wanting to forget about it, I meant that I _didn't_ think that we should just sweep this under the rug and act like it's nothing. You're…you're my _best friend_ , okay, Hopps? You get to me. I care about you. And if there's one thing I can do it's to try and understand what you're going through."

"And like you said earlier, we need open and honest communication. We can talk and work through this. It's all procedure. Like police partners, all right? I'm here to help. Just tell me what I can do to _help_ you to make this easier. I'm right here for you, Judes."

His offer of support felt so nice, so sweet, and for a second she gave her mind a little leeway to saunter into the perverse. But she really didn't think that he could help her. At least not in a conventional way a pair of platonic friends could.

"I _really_ don't think you could help, Nick."

"Are you sure?" he asked, deflated.

She bit her lip, ruminating over what she could possibly put in words that were not easy to translate. "…You promise you won't make fun of me?"

He made a face of mock-scorn. "Depends on how embarrassing it is…because –"she casted a disparaging glare at him, and it immediately rescinded further teasing, "…I'm joking _._ I won't make fun of you in the slightest. I know you think it's weird to talk about, but you really _can_ tell me anything."

Her body was writhing with musk and frustration, but the logical, coherent part of her brain prattled at her to stop and analyze. _Stop,_ and assess the situation. Stop _it!_ _ **Stop**_ _it! Hello Judy are even listening?_

But it was a losing battle.

So screw it.

"Nick…I think...I think I really might need to have sex with you."

And straining through muscles laid lax from uncertainty, she brought her muzzle up resiliently to face his. But his gaze wore nothing of shock, or confusion, or that usual indifferent half-lidded smirk he donned. It was placid, soft. She was dissecting every muscle movement in his face and her heart clamored so loudly in her hears that she almost didn't hear him reply –

"Okay."

" _O-okay?"_ she stammered, not entirely grasping the validity of his response.

His hands traveled down to her wrists, claws quivering above the gentle bone where her paw met her arm. "Yes. _Okay._ If that's what I can do to help you, then I'll help."

Thank goodness for Nick. Thank goodness for friends. And in an overt display of enthusiasm, or relief, or gratefulness (it was all three), Judy wrapped her arms around his waist, effectively caging him in her act of gratitude.

It was happening.

 _Yes. Okay._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _I meant to get this out sooner, but I drafted another version and totally scrapped that. Bah. Hopefully this one came out as I intended it to? Turns out, writing sex and keeping the action moving is hard (no pun intended). It's a little wordy, but I tried to capture all the erratic confusion and nervousness swirling around in Judy's head. Also, I actually really do enjoy romance novels, and am no way harping on them or making fun of the writing (Nora Roberts and Danielle Steele are my favs), but just thought it was an imaginative way to see how Judy would react. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy_!

.

.

.

.

.

Judy was about to have sex with Nick.

It was happening.

 _Now._

Nothing could exactly prepare her for this moment.

And the weight of nothing was actually pretty immense, looming overhead in what had consisted of Judy's ill-fated foray into harlequin romance novels, Clawsmopolitan magazines, and a multitude of rom-coms that boasted rain-slicked kisses and tragic love scenes. Judy was no underachiever – not even when it came to possibly awkward _hormonally_ obligatory sex with a best friend (because that wasn't complicated at all) – she came prepared. However –

Harlequins gave way to extremely outlandish vocabulary. Or at least the really bad ones did ("The orgasm violently tore through her body," and _my god_ , Judy would think. _Were they dead?)_ And even the _great_ ones were filled with a pretense that didn't quite fit her. Clawsmopolitan was a hailstorm, slippery with pitfalls such as "What Men Hate For You to Wear in Bed" and "Sexy vs. Skanky" and "What You're Doing Wrong." And suddenly all the Meg Lion's, Katherine Neighl's, and Jennifer Hamiston's in the world couldn't help her.

No matter how much she role-played, fantasized, _studied_ , sang moans into her pillow to an unseen band…

Nothing could prepare her.

And right there, sitting in front of Nick on his mildewed hardwood, she felt her caseload of preparedness evaporate in the space between them. All the information she so carefully mulled over conveniently began retreating, back into that shadowy place in her thoughts until, _yup_. It was gone. Her mind went blank. _Nothing._

"So are you going to tell me what's goin' on in your head there?"

"It's…nothing."

"You sure? I can _feel_ your inner monologue in the air, Fluff. And it's loud," he mused, edging a bit closer. "Tell me. What's up?"

Apparently the insurmountable weight of tension didn't exactly feel like " _nothing"_ to Nick. "Hah. Oh, _that._ Sorry. I was just…thinking about this."

"Mm," he flicked his chin up. "And?"

"And…I'm thinking for the first time in a long time…I really don't know what to do. I came prepared, and I _thought_ I'd know how do it in the moment, but now I feel at a loss."

"So ask me a question."

"What?"

"Well, if you don't know what to do, ask me a question and I'll answer."

She gawked impishly at her feet, slightly unnerved by his brazen educational offer. "…About sex?"

"Yes _,_ Carrots. About sex," he chided, smirking at her through the candlelight. "And you can't act coy now. Not when you've _already_ asked me to have sex with you."

"Ugh, well –" she tugged the end of an ear, wringing out any cloying nervousness – "What makes you such an expert, huh? How many women have you been with?"

"Romantically or just sexually?"

"You- you know what I mean. Clearly, if you're more experienced–"

"Just four."

"Four?"

"And you? Got any ghosts of boyfriends past?"

"Just _one_. A bunny. And we were in high school," she asserted glibly. She didn't know how necessary it was for her to tell him that it was a bunny, or that it was in high school, but the additional words at least seemed to bulk up her sexual résumé. "And…have you been with other species? Or just…"

"Nope." He swayed his head. "Just vixens."

"You've still got three on me, though."

"Yes, and by the end of tonight, you'll also be having me on you."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Really, Nick?"

"Oh c'mon! That joke was so complex. It works figuratively _and_ literally," he bemoaned. And the bend at the corner of his lips relaxed, a gradual downshift into a mien that was more unassuming. "But this is _me,_ fluff. We can work through this together, like we always do, and if you have anything to tell me, I'm here to listen."

"Yeah?"

A nudge. "Yeah."

"I'm just _scared_. As much as I really need this, I'm scared that…you might get freaked out? Or I might get freaked out? Nick, you were my first friend in this city. And you're _still_ my friend. Best friend. And, uh, I haven't done this in a really _really_ long time and I guess I'm confused too? Ugh, this isn't making sense, is it?"

He rubbed a thumb over his jaw. "Not… _really_ , but I think I'm getting the gist. You know, we don't _have_ to do this, Hopps. If you feel like it's going to be too different? At the least, we can wait on it."

Immediately the idea of riding out this heat wave – _alone_ – hit her with such a painful intensity she nearly collapsed into Nick's fur, panicked at the sheer thought of hormones running rampant without a babysitter. Her body in the throes of a sexistential crisis, she grabbed his muzzle and, " _No!_ Oh god. No no no, that's not it at all! You don't – I really need this. And–" her jaw wobbled –"it _has_ to be with you. I don't understand it, but it just has to be."

Eyelids drawn back and acutely shaken by her boldness, Nick cleared his throat. "R-Really? Me?"

"Yes…but. Oh my god. You _do_ want this too right? I mean – I want you to want this as much as I do. And I understand this is a huge favor to ask, and it might seem like a burden but–"

"Carrots," he laughed, "I will remind you that I have consented. _Very_ enthusiastically. You're not a burden, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. "

Her ears flopped back. "You're right…I'm sorry. I just…I've never been with a fox before, and not to mention _you,_ and…"

Judy, visibly deflated, felt her shoulders sink a little. _Fractionally_. It was just enough though to make her feel less mountainous and more like a fumbling virgin whose experience equated to nothing more than a mound of sand. She felt the sea of Nick's sexual experiences ebb and flow at her feet, and with it, dispersing her confidence.

But it lapped at her for a mere moment and then pulled her in its arms. _His_. " _Judy_ ," Nick breathed, "relax, okay? I'm nervous about this too."

She blinked, and apparently that sufficed as a translatable reply.

He nodded. "Just as much as you are…no matter how much better I am at hiding it." His thumbs traced subtle arcs over her knuckles. He paused, eyeing her, and added, "You know we're _friends_ , right? We were friends before all of this, and we're still friends now. So now _I_ have a question for you."

His openness felt soft, like a tangible form of warmth that enveloped her, comforted her. She didn't speak, just bobbed her head. It was another round on a form of tacit responses that Nick appeared to understand perfectly well.

"What are the hormones like for you? I know you're in heat, but how bad is it? If you don't mind me asking."

Judy broke the silence, realizing now that any type of lengthy explanation could not be concentrated to a single, wordless motion. "Well, first of all, my cycle is going _crazy_. I don't know how to handle myself. It's never been bad like this before," she started. "And it's like I'm at war with myself. Sometimes I'm perfectly fine. Plain 'ole _Judy Hopps_ , and then the next it's like I can't keep the thoughts in my head, and my tongue in my mouth, and I'm _moaning_ in our office cubicle. I'm still me, but at times I don't know if I want fix your collar and comment on how annoying you look–" and she giggled as he feigned a look of mock-hurt –" _or_ if I want to just _not_ fix your collar, and oh, I don't know – pop the buttons off and then leap on you like some tacky Fifty Shades of Prey montage. It's frustrating and confusing, but I can't deny at the end of the day, I really want you. My body really wants…you," she paused, crinkling her nose at how much of a one-liner her last words resembled. She swiftly supplied the rejoinder, "My _biology_ does, I mean."

He considered this. "And now? How do you feel right now?"

"Right now…I feel surprisingly calm. My hormones come and go as they please, and right now, just talking to you, I feel okay, I think."

And it was true.

Her hormones were annoyingly erratic. It wasn't like the gradual crescendo of a line graph, peaking at one specific point and predictably dipping at another. It was a tangle of spaghetti-wire, plummeting and jerking and rising and falling and leaving her all the more confused _,_ all the more horny, all the more breathless and exhausted in its wake. Right now, they'd kindly taken a backseat to let her think a bit less hazily.

However it wasn't just that. Chemical messengers aside, it was also that other thing. The logical Judy Hopps emerged and what came with her was that nagging, wriggling seed of doubt that maybe…

"Nick? What if it's…too different?" she continued, "Because _you know_ I'm not as experienced as you. It might not be - I don't know - what we thought it was going to be like? I might make things awkward and- did you know that I studied for this?"

He made a light little huff. "You – you _studied_ for this?"

"Yeah…I did."

"Why am I not surprised? Wait, don't tell me…" he cleared his throat, and then stretched it into a higher pitch, intoning, " _Because I'm Judy Hopps and flagrant overachieving is kind of my thing?"_

And she laughed, banishing excesses of discomfort on the downbeat. "Hey there, dumb fox. I _read dumb magazines_ and Danielle Seal, and I actually studied because – you know – I'm nervous and I want this to be amazing, and –"

"Danielle Seal?"

"She's a romance novelist. But that's not the point here. The point is I even tried to flesh out what I'd say to you. Like, 'Nick, I'm about to kiss you now. Is that okay? Please tell me if this feels good,' kind of dialogue. "

He continued to stare, and she continued to prattle. "I reviewed _all_ of those police tapes on consensual sex – among, uhh, _other_ things – and I wanted to approach all of this with as much grace and decorum as possible."

"Ah. So essentially you were planning on enacting a form of Emily Post Polite Intercourse?"

"Nick, when you put it _that_ way, it makes it sound so unsexy."

He clutched her shoulders and shook her tenderly, adoringly. " _Carrots_ , can I tell you how adorable you are right now?"

That caught her off guard. And she blushed. She was _blushing_. Was it hormones? Or was it blatant facial display of _my body_ _totally thinks you're cute too Nick stop making my heart do that thing._ It could've been both.

"You – well, no that's fine – uh, thank you?"

"You're welcome. First of all, I told you. I'm nervous too. I've never done this with a different species before either, okay? And second, first times are always awkward. But then it'll be fine because –" he booped her nose – "knowing you, _practice_ makes perfect, right? And since when have you ever given up after just the first time?"

He was right. She'd fumble. Be awkward. They _both_ would. They would laugh and giggle and grope in their missteps but more likely than not they'd be okay.

Nick slid his paws over her shoulders and returned them to rest nimbly on her wrists. "And I _do_ want this, okay? Don't worry. I want this."

Judy wasn't sure if the "this" was the sex with her, or just _her_ in general. Nebulous as his phrasing was, it still sucked her into a current of heady desire and _yes_ and _kiss me kiss me kiss me_ because she was all awash in –

 _Him._

There was a shift in the atmosphere, and he nudged his nose against hers. There was no need for a robotic kiss negotiation.

She held her breath and took the plunge.

* * *

Turns out, first kisses _could_ be a little bit awkward.

Especially when your partner's snout was way longer than yours, and especially when you kept bobbing when they tried to dip.

" _Fluff,_ would you just –"

"Sorry, I can't, hah! Your fur is tickling me!"

"You're moving to the left when I move to the left. This is not a tango, it's literally just _two left feet."_

She giggled into his mouth. "I'm _trying_! Hold on!"

Another laugh, another misstep. But it was _okay._

Judy was relieved that this didn't disrupt their dynamic. Their blunders were inundated with encouraging jibes of a shared experience, and she reveled in how organic it felt.

Then, his muzzle sloped to the right, his head rotating to fit within the curves of their different face shapes. He dipped. She didn't bob. They _glided_ , and _it worked_.

There was a jolt, and suddenly they were comfortable again on an entirely different plane of partnership.

Judy let her hands travel up the length of his snout, burrowing them into the fur on his cheeks. She leaned in deeper, offering up a soft pant, and urging him to kiss her with more fervor.

What was kissing Nick like? It was – It was – _God._ It was everything. It was skipping past the prelude and straight to the chorus. And it aroused a sort of guilt in her because she was enjoying this _far too soon_. She needed to ration her pleasure accordingly because the intake was more than she could burn.

Judy tried to combat the harlequin romance jargon that flooded her mind, but his lips had opened the floodgates and words like _electrifying_ and _cathartic_ and _soul-possessing_ punctuated every beat, every inhale, every _breath_. She would come close to drowning and he'd draw new life into her again. And his tongue – _wh-whoa_ – would lightly graze over her lips and she'd fall back into fragments.

"Oh mmf, _Judy_ ," he drew back, and she felt the warmth fan over her, "This is- you sure you haven't kissed a fox before?"

She beamed, revving up conviction with his appraisal. "Not until now. And look at you, Slick," she hummed, the steady vibrations from her throat rippling into Nick's, "You're not too bad either."

"Well, I have kissed over four women. _Five,_ now."

"Remind me to write them a thank you letter."

He tweaked her ear. "Ehh, not exactly on speaking terms with a lot of them, Fluff. Although I'm sure they'd be touched by your cock-eyed lauding."

"Hah. You broke their hearts or something?"

"Uhh, not exactly," the height of his brow dropped. _Fractionally_. "It was more like the other way around. Dumb fox, _broken_ heart, and all that jazz."

She suspended the heat, furrowing her forehead at the sudden gnawing that wormed its way into her ribcage. Judy didn't want to just kiss him, she wanted to delve under his fur and burrow beneath the layers. Jump over the moat around his heart and stand guard at the drawbridge. The emotions swelled in her head and surfaced on the line between her eyebrows.

Nick noticed. "Hey, I _know_ that look. Forget I mentioned it. We can get into the history of all of my exes later. But right now, this is about _you_ and taking care of your needs."

"I know Nick, I'm –"

But any possible protest was interrupted. His paws cascaded down and cradled the small of her back. His kiss was a little deeper this time. Safe and secure in a private environment that was thankfully _not_ a public office, she could give in to baser instincts and openly moan. Just a little.

 _Okay. Feelings later. Now,_ **this.**

* * *

Sitting lumpen atop Nick's comforter, she'd found them carefully sidestepping a conversation in ex history, and jerked back into the present with a very alluring conversation on canine tongues. However, not before –

"Nicholas Wilde, you have _hearts_ on your boxers?" she clucked her tongue, "And here I thought you hated being a cliché."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, and what?" his claw trickled down and pulled on her waistband, inspecting, "All right, you may be wearing lace, and I will add they look _very_ becoming on you, but don't think that _I don't know_ you own underwear with bunnies and carrots on them."

"Lucky guess. But this time I came prepared for the occasion."

"Aww, you wanted to _impress_ me."

"Oh, shush. Admit it! It's working isn't it?" she gestured to the steady rise in the center of his white and red patterned boxers, "Looks like Junior Ranger Scouts _do_ know how to pitch tents."

Nick scoffed. "Gross, Carrots. Leave the horrible jokes to me."

"Less talking, more educational talk about – what? The tongue thing? I _am_ in heat, you know."

"Yes, the _irritatingly needy_ bunny in heat. Since you've never been with a fox, you _do_ know that a rabbit's tongue is a lot different than mine, right?"

She was insulted. " _Duh,_ Slick _._ I've seen you eat a pawpsicle."

The realization hit her with an even more insulting clarity. _Oh_. Of course.

With full-hearted determination, the sheets rustled and the lace hit the hardwood floor. Flitting to the ground like a delicate tissue. Her heart was pounding, a mix of nerves and emotion and frightening vulnerability that she was sure didn't _show_ on her face, but felt it nevertheless.

A hop, a skip, and a heartbeat.

But the feeling of awkwardness never surfaced.

Slowly, he traced his way down. "Is this okay?"

Judy's chin trembled, a faint and far off nod. She was back to silent confirmation, and when Nick's persuasive demonstration started, her mouth no longer had the wherewithal to curl around the shapes of cajoling encouragement.

No demonstration was needed, really, because Judy was an extremely unswayable jury and Nick was winning the case down south by a landslide of _oh my god's_ and _yes yes yes's_ (her carnality had the wherewithal to vocalize _that,_ at least). Canine tongue. Nick's fingers. Then Judy's. Fistfuls of fox ears underneath small grey paws. Frenzied images that came and went. And in the steeped lowlight of the bedroom, Judy saw white in a near-blinding luminosity.

He raised his face, a grin of satisfaction strewn ever so assuredly on his mug.

Yup. She was definitely _not_ going to look at pawpsicles the same way again.

* * *

They lay there for a while, soaking up the afterglow between ragged breathing and clipped dialogue ("We might quite possibly become the biggest Animal Resources nightmare" "No, _you_ are their worst nightmare. I'm an _angel_ , Nick."). More breaths, more easy whispers, and the awkwardness that Judy was apprehensive about – _still_ – never appeared. It was all but a captive shadow in the dimness of his bedroom, and Judy was fascinated at how much light Nick's eyes could carry even in the dark. Night vision, _sure._ But there was something deeper and metaphorical about it too. Flecks of gold and green and suddenly she was imagining lushness and open fields and – okay, maybe all the novel reading made her superfluously analytical.

She dragged her paw down the cream of his chest, a trail of dips like wind patterns in the sand, all entangled with the sea until she felt it.

The beat.

 _His_ heart. With the moat, the walls. His that was possibly fragmented by a string of ex-girlfriends and breakage and mistrust. The part they'd get to _later_.

Judy wanted to kiss him again.

"Nick, can I just tell you how thankful I am? For you? For everything? For _doing_ this?"

He lifted his paw and stroked her back. "Of course. It's not like it's the _worst_ thing to happen to me on a Friday night anyway."

The dip in the ridge of his collarbone was exceptionally comfortable, and Judy was elated with how perfectly her face was able to nuzzle into its crook. "I'm serious," she murmured. " _Thank you_ so much. You've been so great about this, and you're amazing. Really."

"Wow. Thank you, Judes. But why the sappiness all of a sudden? I know I'm pretty good at bunnilingus, but don't tell me you're in love with me already." There was an inflection at the end of his sentence. It was dipped in sarcasm, but at its core she sensed there was something else. Hopefulness? Or was that hers? He opened his mouth again, and out slipped, "but thank _you_ too."

She didn't expect him to slip out of the banter so easily. "You are? But why?"

"For trusting me enough to let me do this for you. For somehow choosing me – biologically, of course – Thank you. There's an alarming amount of inherent trust in there, and…I've never had someone care that much before. So…thank you."

Her hand remained stationary above his ribcage. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ The rhythm chronicled a history untold, setting off a chain of reactions inside her own.

She shrugged it off. For _later_.

"You know, we might have taken care of _my_ needs, but we haven't taken care of _yours_. I'm not done with you yet. I had more in store for us, you know."

"Oh really now?"

She showed him. She pressed her lips to his. More innocently this time, gently pursed and intoxicated in trust, and exchanged a part of her to lure him into urgency.

Rolling on top of him, smooth, heady undulations rolled out of her mouth and onto his. There was a quiet sharing of breathing, and Judy was ready to snuff out the hormones and wind herself around _him._ She needed this, and whatever lay dormant in her core had fluttered awake. She placed paws firmly on his shoulders, lifting herself closer to him, and centering herself for the intake.

He separated then, his lips still puckered in the extrication. "You _sure_ , Judy? I want to be as careful as I can, I mean, I _am_ bigger than you."

"Yes, please," and she could smell her desperation as much as she could hear it. "I _want_ you."

The hormones were at a standstill, and Judy was naked with logic and composure.

The grand entrance wasn't necessarily theatrical, toting all the fanfare and reckless abandon that extended itself thickly over movies and romance novels. It was slow, _tight,_ and just a little bit binding. But it was different. _Theirs._ And ultimately, she fit. _They_ were able to fit. And the thoughts were hacked-off fragments, and weren't able to come to fruition, because pretty soon –

Judy saw white again.

And judging by the teeth grazing her neck, _Judy's_ name escaping his lips and hitting her collarbone, so did he.

* * *

In all its non-affronting truths, practice did make perfect. Days in the office suddenly were not days in the office anymore. They were _days in the office with Nick and his unkempt fur and the unbuttoned collar_ . Scribbling notes, filing paperwork, days, days, _daze_ weren't just a drone of mundane duties either; they were _mundane tasks and tons of down time and sneaky hideaways in broom closets_ . Taking down perps was no longer just a high-five and celebratory dinner, it was a high-five, dinner, and _how fast can we get out of here so we can actually finally **really** celebrate._

She was flung into a world where Nick wasn't Nick and she wasn't Judy and the world toppled off of its axis and went careening into the universe because night after night she was shouting into the void and muffling whimpers into his neck and sex wasn't just… _sex._

Judy's pheromones and emotions both came whirling in a harmonic duet and her temporary foothold was lost all under Nick's ministrations. She was gone. And the last pieces of her sanity were cast adrift three weeks later in _"I love you."_

Then, his "I love you too," was not only relief, not only liberation, it was support and companionship all coalesced with ecstasy and finished with a flash of fang. _His._

And even though he was _careful,_ and she was not (her overenthusiasm could be a bit blinding), and he was _protective_ and she was laid wide open, she still wanted to stand guard at the drawbridge for him. She hoped the water in the moat wasn't rising.

Because as much as he worried for her, cared, and acted like she was – _Prey: Handle with Care_ , she knew Nick needed protecting too.

But like he said. The exes were for later. And in the very real _now,_ the present, it was just Judy.

 _It was happening._

 _Okay._

 _Definitely._

 _But – **Later.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to update. I was feeling rather uninspired with this story for awhile, and had no idea where I would take it. But it's back! And I actually have some ideas again! So thank you all for being patient while I got it together. Hopefully updates will be more frequent as I gain momentum with inspo._**

 ** _Also, the Bunny Burrow puberty textbook makes a comeback (bc I weirdly love it oh so much)_**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _One Day Later, Post-"I Love You"_**

Nick stares at the clock beseechingly. The minute and second hands trailing a languorous arc across the numbers, conspiring against him, with each passing second more damning than the last. Seven more minutes left in his shift.

The whole day had been a frustratingly long string of foreplay. Luckily for Zootopia, crime had been at a record low for the month. _Unluckily_ for Nick and Judy, they could not find solace in a case adrenaline-inducing enough to distract them from the sexual energy between them. With contrived enthusiasm, Nick enforced the appropriate amount of "oohs" and "ahhs" at the traffic contestations Bogo hoofed out, but it was _really_ hard with Judy sitting next to him all along the way.

 _Hard_ being the key word here.

Quickies during down time used to be an easy feat. But up until last night, when Judy bleated out an errant "I love you" in the middle of sex, it was all Nick could do to _not_ knot her every single time. It was a tangled affair that could last up to twenty minutes. Or thirty. Or well over an hour. To be honest, it all depended on how much Nick's body ( _he_ ) loved her that day. Quickies, currently, were as implausible as they were impossible.

And now – _ugh –_ the bunny knows what she's doing. Nick can't even concentrate on the case files flattened against his desk because Judy keeps _leaning over_ and there's a smell escaping her neck that's stinging his nose and it's tinged with sandalwood and lavender and _heat_ and _oh my GOD so much bunny_. The musk mask she'd bought last week at least quarantined any suspicion from other officers, but to Nick? To Nick…he still knew _. Knows._ _Feels._ And –

"Hopps," he says, pointedly, as if the power in the syllable were hefty enough to abate her actions. "I know what you're doing."

"And what is that?" she grins, eyes feigning innocence.

"You're killing me here."

"I…absolutely…do not…" Judy tugs on her collar, releasing a waft of scent that fans over his snout, "…know…what you _mean_."

"All right, that's it" – his eyes dart to the clock – "In three minutes, we're going back to your place."

"Oh thank _god._ "

He glowers. "Carrots, you have all the subtlety of a tranquilizer gun. I know you're the one in heat here, but I don't know how much I can handle all this _teasing_."

"Pfft, please," she scoffs, "You're not any better. Remember that graffiti case?"

He does. And he also remembers how while she'd inspected the exposed brick for residue, he roved a paw down her back to release a jag of stifled moans from her mouth. The hard punch to the shoulder had been worth it (and also the sex at his apartment succeeding).

Nick shrugs. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Mhmm. Sure, slick."

The edges of her lips are pursed, curved up slightly in the corner like she'd have a cigarette poking out from the folds. She huffs. Rolls her eyes skyward. It's a performance act not intended to be cute. Not intended to be _sexy._ But somehow it breathes with a familiarity only akin to _them_ and it does him in. Nick clenches a fist under the desk to try and still the encroaching desire that comes creeping through his uniform, but he's a scout waging wars with veterans.

Judy glimpses at the clock, mouth curling up in a full and earnest smile. "You know, it's the end of our shift now," she flicks an ear over her shoulder, leaning in and _yup, this is going to kill him._ Not getting shot in the line of duty, or getting attacked by a vicious animal, but a _three-foot_ , _eight-pound bunny._ "We better get going."

"Good," he says. And it's all he can reply with.

* * *

"Oh _sweet- my – peas-_ " she croaks, hardly coiling a sentence together. "Nick, I _haaate-hnng-hate_ you." Which definitely means she loves this, _and_ that he's doing this correctly.

He lifts his muzzle from her velvety core, his nostrils still covered in her scent. "Really now?"

"Keep going. I'm almost–"

He dips back down, talking into her fur. "I needed this so badly," he mumbles, inundating each word with a casual flick of his tongue, "You don't even know."

"Nick, you can't – mmm, _oh_ – say that to a bunny who is in literal heat because of you." She finds purchase in his ear, stroking it, eliciting a rumble from the back of Nick's throat. "I know _exactly_ what you're going through– _urgh_ – by like, times a thousand."

Another deep stroke, adding a paw in, and he's satisfied to hear a shallow, anxious pant edge it's way into her breathing. He's got her wrapped around his finger, and her sentences are dissipating altogether under his furtive ministrations. Nick still replies though, knowing full well the only answer he'll get now is a harder grip on his ears, and possibly a soft squeak denoting an incoming orgasm. "Well, I'll trust you. You're better at multiplication than I am, after all."

And, like clockwork, _as if both the world and Judy could fall prey to Nick's forecasts_ , Judy's paw makes a hard indent on his ear, and there's a guttural purr that surfaces from her maw. Nick watches. The twitch of her mouth. The unhinging of her jaw. The way her brows tent up and the sharp gasp that follows them, and suddenly he becomes a bit unhinged too.

It never stops satisfying him.

She finally blinks. Exhaling bits and pieces of her buoyancy until she's floating back down to the mattress again.

He smirks. "You good there?"

Judy pushes him back, peppering his neck and his jaw with tiny kisses. "Hah. Like you need the validation."

"Don't need the validation, but I'd love it anyway."

She climbs a bit higher and her arms worm their way around his neck. Her path of light pecks end right on his lips. "You're great, Nick. Remind me to send you a wicker basket filled to the brim with blueberry pies and pawpsicles and Bug Burgas. Out of gratitude, of course."

"Weird combination."

"You'd love it anyway."

"Which means you know me too well." He breaks the embrace for a second, pushing weight onto his elbows as he leans. "I can't tell if you're joking though. Now I'm kind of looking forward to the basket."

She rolls her eyes. Shoots him a look seeped in sarcasm, and her eyes send a tacit greeting that screams _you're an idiot._ But again, all it does make him want her more for it. "A thank you for having heat-sex with me basket?"

He rolls back onto the headboard. "Yup."

"Officer Wilde, you are too much."

"So you'll think about it?" he preens.

She taps his nose with her finger. " _Maybe._ Only because this must be _so hard_ on you."

"Now that you mention it, speaking of hard-ons…"

But Judy sinks onto him, _slowly_ , silencing him in one gratifying descent. Faced with a gentle gray miracle that could tarnish silver tongues, he found his own becoming remarkably quiet. His back is pressed firmly against the sheets, dampening with the white-hot fervor radiating from his spine.

His mind begins blanking as they settle into their familiar, partnered routine.

* * *

Afterward, it's a chaotic array of limp bodies, twisting blankets, sheets popped and rolling off the edges, and the bed looking like some dramatic enactment in a low-budget sex scene. He's satisfied realizing the synthetic stench of musk mask has dispelled, overpowered by the fresh smell of _them_.

It's worth it, he thinks. The frustratingly sexless hours previously squandered on case files and boring paperwork (not that he'd _usually_ complain), all obliterated once Nick and Judy had passed her doorframe.

To think he isn't even the one in heat.

"Hey Judes?" he whispers, and she pushes her head up under his chin. Pressing more natural scent into his neck. He inhales the whole atmosphere that orbits her.

She replies into his neck. "What's up, slick?"

"You all right?" he asks.

Because even after rutting like this for a countless number of times, there's still a weird nagging fear about their size difference that makes him cautious. Something about just _being_ with her that makes him want to be careful. About everything.

She runs a paw down his cream underbelly, offering a curt nod in lieu of a response.

 _She's all right. She's okay._

"Good," he breathes, "because you've fucking _ruined_ me."

Judy giggles, supplying him with an eager kiss. And it's charged with more than just post-coital euphoria and obligatory intimacy. It's them.

"Nick, can I ask you something?"

He nods.

"The other night. When you told me you loved me back…? How long did you feel that way?"

He knows what she means. Not just the _you-know-you-love-me_ show of platonic adoration, but the deeper, more insidious kind of love that takes root and spreads from your limbs out of nowhere. It was something so subtle that the beginnings and ends were indefinite.

"I don't know," he answers. And it's true. He doesn't. "But it could've been when you kept trying to do my tax forms for me." It was nearly a year ago.

She snorts. "What? You can't be serious."

" _Really_."

"For one, I didn't want you to get _arrested_. And secondly, twenty plus years of shirking taxes? Someone had to teach you how to do it correctly."

He remembers it. Judy had hunched over the desk in his bedroom, paw clutching the back of her neck, and the mound of tax paperwork rising up around her, effectively thwarting her small frame. Nick _tried_ to push her nimble little paws away, _assured her_ that he could just Zoogle the steps and figure it out for himself, but his attempts were gently rebuffed. She'd pressed the pen to his palm, and dragged his paw to answer on the dotted lines with all the taxpayers' verbiage (TIN? EIN? Whatever _those_ had been). Even though they'd still been just friends _minus_ the benefits at that point, the fact that Judy cared enough to help was… _something._ She'd waved a page of notes she made – highlighted and bulleted with color codes – to help him with all the jargon. And the act, albeit somewhat overbearing, was so warmly domestic that it spurred a chain of emotions that he wouldn't discover until later.

Now, Nick realizes that it's _her._ Embroidering their friendship with her subtle displays of care, the little things surmounting into something bigger than he ever deserves. "And look at me now," he begins, grinning, "Not only an officer of the law, but also a professional tax payer."

Judy giggles again. Pressing deeper into the crook of his neck. "Don't give me too much credit. Although I admit, you sure do clean up nice."

Nick smiles witheringly. "You haven't even seen the best of it."

"Oh? I'm assuming there's a Casanova hidden under all of that scrofulous Hawaiian shirting? I thought I've already seen the best of it."

" _Hah_ ," he jabs, "well you haven't. 'Already seen the best of it,' the rabbit says. You wouldn't know what hit you, Hopps."

She shifts over on top of him, head tilting. " _Really._ So when do I get to see this distinguishable fox you speak of?"

"When you go on a date with me," he says, voice down shifting. But then, realizing how overly brazen it sounded, he imbues a softer tenor, one that's less demanding and more inviting. "I mean, only if you want to. You don't _have to,_ but I just thought that –"

" _Nick_! Of course I'll go on a date with you!" she sneers, "But we've already been on plenty of dates before!"

"No we haven't. I'm talking about a _real_ date at a _real_ restaurant. One that doesn't have potpie on the menu." He rests his chin between her ears. "Where you can finally see all this handsome fox in a suit and tie."

"Hmm, a date…" she pauses, letting the words slur around her tongue, her mouth. Her _mouth_ , with that lopsided smirk that means she's enjoying every second of teasing him, making him wait. "A date with you? Sounds good to me. When?"

"This weekend. We both have it off."

"Are we going to decide on a place right now?"

"Uh-uh." He flits a hand in front of her muzzle. "I know this city like the back of my paw, and _I'm_ going to make it a surprise, Fluff."

She snickers, her body radiating warmth, _heat,_ and the lilt of her laugh makes him feel like he's being plugged right into a furnace. "A date," she repeats. "I am _dating_ Nicholas Wilde."

They're dating. It's happening.

But something settles, and the endearment feels strangely ominous. Somewhere, under all that russet, there's a knot in his chest that winds a little too tight. Uninvited, it waltzes through and twists into him nonetheless, with ex-girlfriends and past relationships slinking into his neuroses. Failures at worst, fleeting successes at best. He doesn't want to think about his dating history. Not at a moment – with _just_ Judy – as intimate as this. But the memories briefly straddle him, leaving him shrinking and feeling more diminutive in their wake.

Judy's different. _What they have is different_. And although he cringes at the mantra because it sounds so generic, so copied from a Maulmark card, it offers a little respite from the violent stream of historical heartbreak.

"Nick? You all right there?"

He sighs, hums a reassurance that he doesn't necessarily believe.

Quietly, Judy's hand trails a path down his chest again, lingering just above his ribcage. She knows. And _right there,_ as if there's an unseen wound that needs to be urged away, she places a chaste kiss right on his chest. "Hey," she whispers, "I'm right here for you."

 _Yup. This bunny_ owns _you, Wilde. She most certainly will be the death of you._

He doesn't want to hide. Not from her. He wants to ask her questions. About her cycle, or when _she_ began to love him. If it was all just heat of the moment, or if it was something that developed a long time ago, gaining more momentum as this mating ritual progressed. But he doesn't ask. Just listens to the silence.

And though Judy is hard to fathom, like she's borrowed from a fantasy he can't believe he's living, he lets go a little. Unhinges. Wants (and _hopes_ ) to believe in tiny gray miracles, even if it means he might die again.

* * *

Excerpts from When Somebunny's Ready by Margaret O'Hare.

| **_Chapter 10 – Bonded Rabbits:_** _Bonds and relationships between rabbits and their partners are very much different than with canines or felines. Rabbits mate for life, and will offer their partners emotional support, comfort, and veritable amounts of petting! It is shown that bonded rabbits are healthier, happier, and more alert!_ |

| _What happens if I'm separated from my partner? Separating a bond is sometimes stressful and, at times, cruel for the rabbit. While rooted in an archaic biology in rabbits thousands of years ago, it is still possible to go through states of depression, anger, and denial_. |

| _Often times, bonding is a grueling task. After all, love at first sight is both risky and rare! A responsible bunny must choose wisely, and bonding often takes course over the short period of a week, or even up to a full year. Once achieved however, it forms an indelible relationship!_ |

* * *

Hours later, after two more sessions of sexing off all the extraneous heat, Judy's alone in her apartment again. The image of Nick's vulnerability is still flashing through her head. And as Judy thumbs through the burrow book on puberty, each page-flutter sounds like an omen. Like locusts flapping their wings and taking flight. Her eyes strain in the harsh lamp light, through the dark, attempting to pick up on all the details that night vision didn't bless her with.

| _Separating a bond is sometimes stressful and, at times, cruel for the rabbit._ |

What was it like for foxes? Never belatedly prepared, Judy makes a mental note to research fox mating cycles. For homework. What if Nick was so hurt, so _jaded,_ by breakups that there was a part of him that wasn't ready? Still hung up? Or didn't want to love Judy fully?

Or, what– _oh god_ – what would it be like to for her to be separated from Nick?

She wanted him to be okay. She wanted _them_ to be okay. But she didn't ask about his exes, didn't want to press it. So when she saw the misery written all across his muzzle, she just pressed his lips above his heart and hoped that it was enough to still the undulations.

| _Rabbits mate for life, and will offer their partners emotional support, comfort, and veritable amounts of petting!_ |

The book speaks to her in exclamation points, as if that's the only way to handle such a delicate subject. With lots of excitement! Emotions! Woo! She doesn't know why she hangs onto every word, hoping she might be struck by its power of truth, but she does.

 _Calm it, Judy. You're going on a date with Nick. Nothing can go wrong._

And it won't.

 _Judy Hopps: Terrified Because She's Falling In Love Way Too Fast._

She still needs to talk to someone directly, someone who _knows_ what she's going through. Looking at anatomy books feels too impersonal and detached. She wants someone _real_.

Her fingers find her phone, flying over the keyboard to crash into the speed-dial. The phone rings. And rings. And _rings_ , until –

"Hi, bun bun! You're calling late. Is something going on?" Bonnie Hopps. Her mother. Judy hears wide-open spaces and crickets bleating through the phone line, pressing Bunny Burrow right into her ear and filling the emptiness in her apartment.

"Hey Mom," she says, running a paw through her ear. It's a nervous tic that never really died off.

" _Judy,_ are you all right?"

She doesn't know.

"I need your help. And I think you're the only mammal who can answer my questions."


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: This chapter ended being a lot longer than I intended it to be. But oh well! I wanted to capture everything, and all of their interactions. And I guess it makes up for how long it took to post this? Sorry! Some crazy presidential election happened in America last Tuesday, but, after a wine-induced coma (only half kidding), I AM BACK Y'ALL.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

 ** _tumblr lepouletfou_**

.

.

.

.

.

Heart attacks are one of the leading causes of death in rabbits. With an average resting heart rate of about 140 – 180 beats per minute, mortality rates could easily be upped by a wayward firework…or the news of your daughter becoming the first bunny cop…or –

 _Sex! Rutting! With my ancestral predator!_ _ **Eat me**_ _!_

Which is why when Judy had called home, when _only_ her mother had picked up, the relief she felt bordered on euphoria. The knowledge of her father's weak constitution and questionably high BPM (high BPMs ran on her father's side, drug wielding uncles who bit chunks out of your arm ran on her mother's) summoned several frightening images. Well, particularly just one. Like, inducing his heart attack when telling him his daughter was rutting a fox in the midst of a heat-coma. Surely he'd _cry_. And then clutch his chest and keel over in a demise fit for soap operas. A beloved TV character all lit up with the glamour of death.

Plus, a firsthand female perspective on the woes of estrus cycles was better coming from your own mother, an actual live mammal, and one whose informational presence wasn't embodied by a red textbook written in the 1950s.

Their phone conversation had been brief and confusing, with no questions answered and even more hanging in the air. Judy had all but whined at the end of _one_ sentence, and Bonnie took the slight intonation as a means to get in the pick-up and embark on a five-hour road trip to Zootopia. Before Judy could even stammer a protest she'd already heard the truck spinning gravel as it shuddered through the receiver. She could only hope it was _just_ her mom, and not the rest of the Hopps warren in tow.

She'd get her questions answered. She'd vomit out the information in one briny sludge – _"Mom, I'm screwing my brains out with my police partner, Nick Wilde! Who's a fox!"_ – and hope her mother's somewhat stronger constitution could take it better.

Yet now, the feeling of nervousness, the act of _telling her mother_ all of this, is more palpable and unnerving than the news itself.

There's a rap at the door. And it's her.

 _Okay, Judy. Breathe. Tell her you're in heat. And…get the help you need to get. And on top of that, hope that your mother doesn't die._

Judy flings the door open, wearing a smile that sits plastically over all the fatal would-be scenarios. "Hi, Mom! You really didn't have to come all the w–"

"Judy!" Bonnie gasps. "You're in _heat!_ "

 _Well. That was fast._

" _Mom_!" she splutters, eyeballs sweeping the hallway for any younger siblings – or worse, her _dad_ – in earshot. "How did you…? And would you keep it down? You really didn't…" _sweep_ " _…_ bring dad or the rest of the family here did you?"

"Oh shush, dear. When you told me this was a mother-daughter sort of thing, I figured it was private."

Judy let go of the air in her lungs, dispelling the tension in one glorious exhale. _Thank god._ Waxing poetic about estrus cycles to your mother is one thing, but having your _dad_ and your _hundreds of_ _siblings_ dial into the conversation is a Socratic seminar close to Greek Tragedy.

"Plus," Bonnie adds, "I can smell you all the way down the hallway. I think I know what my own daughter smells like. Especially if she's in heat." She reports this casually, like describing the familiar fragrance of a tried-and-true perfume. Top notes of lavender, vetiver, with deep, deep, _deep_ undercurrents of Nick Wilde musk.

Heat!

 _Sex!_

 _Kits!_

 _Prosper!_ –

"Gross," Judy says, cringing, as if her own perverse thoughts are her mother's doing. "You can come inside, you know. I don't want the neighbors to hear."

Bonnie moves through the threshold, and the door closes behind. "Before we get into details, like _who this buck is,_ have you been eating at all?"

Judy blinks. Sometimes her mother's conviction to make her children eat is incorrigible. "Yes, I have. But now is not the time to start complaining about my eating habits. What I want to talk about is–"

"Bun bun, eating is _important_. Especially when you're in this sort of state. Your metabolism goes haywire, and you could start losing your fur." She yanks Judy's mini-fridge open, rummaging through her food selection and sighing with dismay at the lack of brilliance. Even Judy's a little disenchanted by the array. Stacks of TV dinner carrots, half-drank protein bottles, and boxes of takeout sagging against each other like a forlorn army. "Judy _…_ " she berates. "This is unacceptable. How long have you been living like this?"

Judy, embarrassed and feeling five years old again, shrugs. "Not long. Usually I eat out or something."

"That's it. Where's the grocery store? We're getting you fresh food. _I'll buy them._ Alfalfa hay and _lots_ and _lots_ of water."

"I just ate!"

"Nonsense."

" _Mom!_ " she groans, slumping onto her desk. "Can we do this after? You just drove for five hours. Don't you want to rest a little? I didn't call you as a ploy to sponsor my groceries." A look of deflation pulls at Judy's face, and she finds herself smashing a paw against her cheek in defeat. "I called because…because…I don't know. I just needed someone to talk to about.. _._ " She hesitates, realizing that using one word to capture something as boundless as her emotions is hopeless. It's more than just heat. More than just _hormones_ she wants to talk about. So Judy makes a sweeping gesture over her body and says, "… _this._ "

"Okay, hun" – Bonnie slinks to her side, smelling distinctly of soil and the comfort of home – "Groceries after. So talk to me. Who is this buck? And how long have you–"

"Not a _buck,_ per se."

"Oh…" Bonnie shifts. Blinks. " _Doe?_ "

"What? He's a _he_ , mom."

"Right. Just making sure. I mean if you are, it's really all right. Look at Aunt Shelly and Ronda. Good for them, right?"

"Yeah, I saw on MuzzleBook that they got engaged. We're invited to the party," Judy replies.

"So, who?"

"Who's invited to the engagement party?"

" _No,_ Judy," Bonnie clips. "Who's the _boy_ you're seeing?"

Having a straight dialogue with her mother is borderline impossible. She'll veer from food to _heat_ to partnerships to engagement parties and then back to sex like it's an exhaustive traffic routine. Flitting from subject to subject is a performance art only Bonnie can master.

But anyway –

"It's Nick."

There's a sharp exhale that dusts over Judy's ear. "Your cop partner…? The…" She can't tell if her mother's face is crumpling, or if the walls around her are. Or maybe _everything_ is collapsing. "…The _fox_?"

"I know…what it sounds like. And I don't want you to freak out or anything, I mean...you're probably even going to, well…" Her voice fades a bit, and she distracts the waver with a forcible cough. "Well I _needed_ to talk to you because I thought you'd know what I was going through. Not the part about being in an interspecies relationship, but the being in heat part? I don't…I don't know. I just really…" Judy's gaze falls to her lap, finding she can only elaborate her situation in ellipses. Sentences with no path winding into other sentences with no path. Like the omissions could buffer her from the painful discomfort of it all.

"Judy, you're in a relationship?" her mother asks.

"Umm, kind of? But even if you and dad disapprove, I…"

"Sweetie," she admonishes, cradling Judy's chin. "Disapprove? Who said anything about that?"

She lightens. Turns her eyes up. "Well, you just had that weird look on your muzzle. I thought you were… _scared_ or something."

"I was surprised. Not scared. Not even disapproving. Your father and I _love_ you, and I wouldn't put you down for someone you're with." Her mother's paws land on her shoulders, a small act of compassion, and there's a gentle quake in Judy's chest that she's scared might give way to an oncoming sob.

"Really mom? You mean that?"

"If there's anything I learned from _you_ , Judith Laverne, is that" – she clears her throat, laughs, filling her throat with a peppy inflection – "'the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.'"

"Moosevelt said that, not me."

Her mom strokes an ear. "Yeah, but you did quote that a lot. And you got your dad and me to open our eyes. About everything," she says, pouring out a comforting smile. "And I know Nick is a great fox. I can tell."

"He is," Judy nods. "He really is."

Bonnie kneels, dipping to meet her. "So ask me the questions you need to, bun. How is your heat cycle going?"

"Well," she begins. "When you were in heat, uhh…" Really, there is no non-awkward method to talk to your parents about sex. No matter how many hundreds of kits they had to testify for their well accrued rut life. "Did it…make you get attached to the buck you were with?"

"Hmm." Bonnie pauses, crinkling a brow. "No. I've _gotten_ attached to bucks before, but it's not because of going into a heat cycle. It doesn't necessarily work like that. Maybe it made me want to think about having kits more, but I think that was just a personal aspirational thing."

"So you're saying…the heat? The attachments? They're completely separate from one another?"

"Yes. Judy, did you not listen in class or something? You know, sexual education was the most important course in Bunny Burrow when I was at that age."

"Yes, mom _. I did._ And the thing is, when I was in high school, when I had my heat cycle for the first time– _"_

"With Tommy Thumper?"

"Yes, with…Tommy Thumper." Judy cringes. Her mind reels to a standstill at the thought of her awkward first time, and _his_ even more awkward _shortcomings_. She shakes her head, as if the jostling is enough to snuff out the stagnant memory. "Anyway, when I'd mated with him, and went into heat, I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel attached to him. But with Nick…I don't know. I suddenly go into this mating cycle, and then even more suddenly…I'm _attached?_ And I _like_ feeling this way, mom. I really like him" – _love love love him_ – "And what happens when my cycle is over? What if this is a mirage and I was just so hormone hungry and couldn't keep it together that I hallucinated my feelings into reality?" Judy's breathing rhythm sputters, but the words that spill out of her mouth unbidden, move faster. "I want this _so bad_ and I'm scared, and he's been through rough breakups before, and I don't want him to be collateral damage, and I want to _protect_ him from everything and I'm afraid he's not ready for this. I want him to be ready, but I just want him to be ready when he is, I don't want to _force_ it."

The mishmash of phrases barely makes sense as they shoot through the air with alarming momentum. She expects her mother to be confused, or stricken, or even mildly concerned that her daughter just had a stroke in front of her while trying to form a clear sentence structure. But Judy doesn't expect her to look so… _amused._ "Mom? Why are you staring at me like that?"

Bonnie smiles gently. "Honey, you've clearly had something for him from the beginning. And this has nothing to do with the heat cycle you're in. Heat may _encourage_ feelings of attachment, but they can't make a doe fall in love. Not if there wasn't anything there to begin with. You at least had _something_ for him, clearly, if you two were rutting to kick off your heat cycle."

"Well we weren't," Judy sighs, feeling heavy with ineptitude. "We hadn't done anything…at _that_ point. My heat cycle just sort of _happened_. Which apparently is possible. I think as friends, and police partners, we were so bonded that it–"

" _Judy._ You're telling me that your cycle just started? Just like that without even mating first?"

She nods.

"Then why are you still so concerned about your feelings disappearing after the heat cycle if they've been there all along?"

Judy breathes. Then stares. Her mother is right. If the feelings she'd failed to acknowledge before were strong enough to jumpstart an estrus cycle, who was to say they'd evaporate once it ended? Her mating cycle was _caused_ by these pre-existing feelings of attachment, not the source of them. Something had _been there_ all along, and it had nothing to do with the spike in hormones that fired off in her brain to tell her to mate.

The realization clicks into place like puzzle pieces, enlightening her into surety. Why does she need so much affirmation to solve something so simple? Apparently, her coolly sharp detective skills melt in the face of heat.

"Judy?" Bonnie prods, jerking her out of her reverie. "Are you in love with him?"

"Yes, mom. I'm in love with him." And it certainly _feels_ like she's shouting it. But in actuality, everything tilts, and it comes out croaky.

"Then you need to talk to him."

"But he already knows that. We've already said we loved each other."

" _No,_ Judy. I mean _really_ talk to him. You have obvious concerns that I can't answer for you. You need to communicate with Nick. Make sure you're both ready for this step forward." Bonnie grins again, and her paw is back on Judy's shoulder, warm and gentle. This small display of care talks to her in a way words cannot. _You'll be okay_ , it says. _As long as you keep trying, and talking, and_ _ **loving**_ _, you two will be okay._

Moms are kind of good like that.

"I will, mom," she replies.

"And are you going to be all right, hun?"

Judy beams back. Lighter. With more bravado. "I'll be okay." And the smile isn't steeped in artifice this time because she _means_ it.

* * *

 _BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Nick's eyes peel open, his night vision and his brain and his whole entire body failing to crank up.

 _BANG!_

His door. Someone. Banging.

These are the only realizations that surface, but low-level thought processes is all he needs to start prying himself out of bed.

 _BANG!_

It's the middle of the night. And there's a war going on or something. Right behind his door. From the rattling, it's all threatening to burst right through and barrel into his apartment. Leaving his bedroom, Nick bumps into various cupboards and corners, still drunk on sleep. He screams an expletive as his nightstand rushes across the floor to meet his toe. _Would you kick in already, night vision? Wake up!_ Tripping blindly through the clutter, there are at least two more pieces of furniture that violently greet his fumbling presence, and he continues to throw obscenities into the dark.

The banging on his door revs up to a more hysterical crack, and he hopes to Marian this nocturnal interruption will be brief. One because he's acutely irritated he will not get his ten coveted hours of sleep, and two because he's struggling to tuck in the half-boner that's awkwardly tenting up in his pajamas.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" he croaks, voice grinding itself awake.

 _BANG! BANG! BANG!_

"I said HOLD ON!"

"Nick! It's _me_!"

It's muffled. Soft. A stark contrast to all the violent knocking. But he still recognizes… _knows_ that it's –

"Carrots?"

"Sorry I'm here so late! Did I wake you? I just really needed to see you…"

He swings the door open, nearly blinded by the fluorescence. There's a corona of light around Judy's silhouette, and it takes a couple attempts to finally blink her into focus. She's standing, shyly, fingering with the strap of her overnight bag. His fingers knead circles against his temples. "Hey Hopps," he rasps. "Are you okay? What are you doing here so late?

"I'm sorry, I tried calling you, but you didn't pick up. And then I started freaking out, and worked my way down a rabbit hole because I thought, 'oh my god what if Nick is dead? What if he's not answering because he's frothing at the mouth or something?' And then I just started _really_ worrying if –"

" _Carrots_ , it's okay. I'm fine. Clearly I'm alive." He takes a moment to crack his neck. "So you came here to check on me?"

"Umm, not exactly…this is a different kind of visit."

" _Oh._ One of _those_ nights, huh? Aww. Miss my body that much already?"

Hookups in the middle of the night aren't out of the ordinary. There are evenings where Judy's carnal hunger skyrockets and the only thing that keeps her tethered to the ground is Nick lying on top of her. So, as alarming as this wake-up call is, it's not entirely unwelcomed.

He steps forward, his muzzle catching light. And Judy winces. "Oh, _Nick_. I'm so sorry. I really shouldn't have done this _now._ You were sleeping…"

"No, no. It's fine," he yawns. "Judging by your banging though, my neighbors could probably use the apology more than I do."

"Oh my go- sweet cheese and crackers. I didn't even…" she glances downward, guiltily, and her gaze lands somewhere on the floorboards. "Should I write them a note? Ugh, I feel so bad."

He grins. "They could probably also use an apology note for a couple of nights ago. I mean...even _then_ , you were pretty loud, Fluff."

"Three nights ago? I –" Realization dawns and her paws fly to her mouth (and Nick tries to act like it's not the funniest thing ever)– " _Oh._ Agh, oh my god. I could die," she moans. "Did they hear everything?"

Well. _So_ far he hasn't gotten any noise complaints. But it's hard to face his neighbors after the full-on symphony he had with Judy three nights ago. It's burnt into his memory. Judy's eyes pinched closed, her white-furred mouth hanging in an _O,_ and Nick's walls absorbing the brunt of every single (loud) verbal affirmation. It's doubtful it went unheard.

He reaches out and tweaks her ear. "Pretty sure something as loud as _us_ is hard to miss. I might even get kicked out of here pretty soon," he shrugs, leaning against the doorjamb for added melodrama.

The sarcasm doesn't seem to latch though. Judy continues to spin deeper into guilt, and there's a bunch of _oh my gods_ and _I'm sorry's_ that enter the air. Nick laughs. " _Hey,_ I'm just joking. I'm not getting kicked out. Don't feel bad."

" _Nick!_ " she reprimands. "Well…good. So they didn't hear us either, then?"

"I'm pretty sure they still _heard_ , but I haven't gotten any complaints yet. Anyway, what brings you over here this late?"

"Nick, I love you," she blurts.

A twinge. In his chest. _Again_. He feigns a smarmy grin and tries to act like he's totally not terrified and not _dangerously_ falling in love with her every time she says that. But he's still dazed and groggy, so whatever emotion flickers across his face is probably half-assed and impish. "Aww, Carrots, I love you too. I already know that, so wha–"

"I _know_ we've said it before," she interrupts. "We've acknowledged that we have feelings for each other, and I know we're going on a date soon, and that we'd figure it all out after this cycle ends, but…but I need to let you know that I'm actually way deep in love with you _._ So much so that it actually physically hurts to know that _you've_ been hurt before."

Nick gently tugs her through the door, figuring he doesn't want something this intimate to be echoed down a dingy hallway. "Ju – _Carrots…_ you– you're– but are you sure this isn't because of…?"

The door clicks shut, and his thoughts promptly follow. Right into place. Click. Click. _Click._

"No, Nick. This is _not_ because of my heat cycle. It's _not_ because it's 2 AM, and it's not even because I talked to my mom about all of this just because I'm too dumb to answer all my weird questions myself."

"Wait. You talked to your _mom?_ "

"And I know you may not be ready," she prates on, traipsing around the topic of her mother. "You might be scared or afraid because you've been through breakups before, and I know we haven't even talked about your exes at all. About… _everything_ "– her arms gesticulate wildly in the space between them – "but I want you to know that I'm here for you. And I want to reassure you that what I have with you is not because of this heat, and the only reason I'm _in_ this heat is because of you. That this heat is rooted in something way deeper than just sex, and I've had something for you all along that's not going to go away."

His brain has fully awakened, and reality takes no time to click in. But the things he wants to say still churn in his head. _I want. I need. I_ _love. I'm so deep in love with you too_. _Love- love- love-_

 _You._

But Judy doesn't seem to notice. The sheer inertia of her emotions is enough to jolt her through the rest of her speech. "And maybe I'm making a huger deal out of this than this needs to be. Hah, you know me, right? Overdramatic and emotional. Because I know we love each other. Like, we've already said that and stuff. But, umm, I really want this to work, you know? I just wanted to make sure _you're_ okay with all of this. Every time I say I love you, you pull away and get this weird look on your face–"

"What? I do?"

"You _do._ Don't act like I can't see it. I _know_ you." She regains herself. Breathes. And with each sentence, her breath grows more valiant. "But even if you're unsure of everything you've been through, Nick, I want you to be sure about me. I can't help how you feel, but I know how _I_ feel. And I'm sure about this. And I don't want you to doubt my feelings for one second."

He does not want to cry, so he doesn't. Tucks his chin and presses it to his chest and blinks away the blur of tears. Sharpening Judy back into clarity. _Blink blink blink._ Nick still can't articulate. His tongue curls, but nothing comes out. Judy's outpouring of care and validation and _love_ just leaves him speechless, in awe, and with the shells of his ears burning scarlet. He wonders if he's still half-asleep. Still dreaming. He won't realize until later– that dreaming, and _hearing_ Judy say _she loves him_ , equates to pretty much the same thing.

And while his brain fights to catch on, his body, of its own volition, responds in the only way it knows how. By pulling her in, and kissing out his feelings. Pressing his lips into hers as if movements could capture every unsaid thought.

 _I want. I need. I love._

It's enough _._ For now. He's still waking up, after all. So he lets his body just roll with it.

* * *

Except, nearly ten minutes later, his body has… _other_ plans. It doesn't just roll with it. It stops. The tires go flat. Things go soft. _Soft_ soft. As in –

He can't get it up.

"Oh," is all Judy says. And then, cautiously, "Uhh, so _that_ happened..." she's whispering extra delicately, like the loudness of her voice is an erection hazard. "Was it something I did?"

Nick groans, embarrassed. "No, Carrots. You were fine. _Are_ fine. I know this sounds like a line" – _it totally isn't, he_ _ **swears**_ – "But I _swear_ this has never happened to me before. Really."

"It's okay, Nick. It's late. And I just showed up in the middle of the night and said all these _things_ and surprised you. You were asleep, and it's really oka–"

"Oh god," he groans again, burying his face in his pillow. "No. _I'm_ sorry. This – I- I don't know what to say. Really, it's not you." He peeks out and sees her eyeing him. With pity? Caution? Worry? All of the above? "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I've suddenly sprung five heads and you don't know how to react."

"Pff, _sprung_?" she giggles. "Interesting word choice. 'Sprung' being the key word here."

He cringes.

It's mortifying. Dangling precariously between pride and humiliation, he has half a mind to grab a pen and create a detailed write-up of all his sexual encounters to assure her, _no,_ this has never happened before. But why now? And why with her? Tumbling into bed and getting their paws all over each other is a routine so well memorized he could probably just do it in his sleep. Which tonight, ironically, he _can't._ It was all stiff sails until the wind suddenly died. The energy it's taking to redirect all the blood to one specific area kills the mood even more.

"Nick?"

"Yeah?" he mumbles into the pillow. He wants to die. Temporarily. Maybe if he shoves his head into the pillow hard enough, it can swallow him whole.

She strokes his ear. "It's really fine. I understand."

"You don't have to say that. Just give me maybe five more minutes?" He tries to focus, but fails. There's a storm brewing in his head ( _I want. I love. Love._ _ **Love**_ ), and his attention is split. "I need to focus."

" _Nick_."

"What?"

She places a paw on his shoulder. "Come on. It's really not that big of a deal. I'm fine."

"Hey no! Paws off," he jibes. "You're distracting me! I need to _concentrate_ for a second."

"You don't have to try so har-err, _much_. And I don't want you to. It happens to every guy. It's common. I get it if–"

"Hopps, _"_ he interjects, shooting an index finger to cover her mouth. There's a tiny, barely audible _meep_ that follows it. "I'm not letting you speak because I know you're going to say something else to try and comfort me, or make a joke about this little, uhh, _scenario_. But let's never talk about this again okay? Umm…sound good?"

Judy's head bobs just fractionally, with her lips still against his finger.

He relaxes.

"Wait," she presses. "I'm not allowed like, _one_ joke?"

His heart falls near the foot of his bed. "No. I'm begging you. _Please_ no."

"But you've made plenty of jokes about my heat cycle."

" _No._ "

"It's what we do! We joke. We laugh about something and then move on, right?"

"This is it. This is my end. Goodbye, precious ego. Hello, cruel reality," he cried theatrically. "I sure missed being functioning while I was able."

"Oh soften up, will you?" she chides.

 _Soften?_ _Really_?

A grumble. "I hate you."

She joins him on the pillow. There's a sliver of space left, but he can still feel the electrical surge in their inches apart. Vibrating through the air, and the silence begs for some more elaboration. She rolls closer to him and reaches through the invisible barriers. "You don't mean that."

Nick finally frees his face from the pillow prison and musters enough courage to look her in the eye. "You're right. I don't."

She smirks, seemingly satisfied by this admission. Nick admitting he's wrong is a rare occurrence, and he knows every time it does happen, Judy soaks it up and beams with her rightness.

And tonight, she's right about a number of things.

"C'mon Hopps, get in here," he whispers, holding his arms out across the pillow in a wide arc. She tumbles forward, nestling his chest, and Nick pushes his snout between her ears. "I will admit…you're right. I am kind of terrified." He breathes out the words into her fur, and she bristles for a moment.

"What do you mean?" she asks him, sounding throaty with confusion.

"Sorry, let me backtrack. I'm talking about what you said earlier. You know, when you barreled down my apartment door like the next coming of World War Z?"

"I did not _barrel_."

"You barreled," he retorts. "But just let me continue, okay? What I want to say now, is that, yes, I _am_ in love with you…and…I really am ready for this."

Her paws slink under and clench either side of his ribcage, holding him in place. Like gravity is about to bolt them both off the bed and she needs to cling to him for support. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I want to help you. And make everything easier," she murmurs.

He nearly laughs at the irony. Weeks ago, in front of Snarlbucks, at the start of Judy's burgeoning libido, Nick had repeated the same exact thing. Leave it to her to end up worrying about him in exchange. Carefully (and correctly) reading into something as small as a facial expression. Reassuring him. Knowing what he needs to hear. And _saying_ it. And while he feels incredibly naked and vulnerable with how piercing her compassion is, he also can't help but feel relieved to be so _seen_.

Finally, he says, "Thank you, Judy." He uses her real name. The impact is worth it for a time like this. "And no matter what you might believe…I'm _over_ my exes. But I just keep thinking that I'm in this state of delirium where I'm going to wake up. And _you're_ not going to be here. And I'm back in reality where things…" His paws settle on the small of her back, and he catches his next words in a soft huff. "…Well, where I'm back in reality where things…aren't…"

"Hey," she whispers, craning her neck up to level his gaze. "I'm _real_ , Nick. I'm right here. And I love you, okay? I'm _in_ _love_ with you, and I _want_ you, and I'm here."

He knows it's the truth. That she means it. And with Judy cocooning him with endearments, Nick knows she's _real_. He feels far away and close all at the same time. "I love you" – he dips, his eyes go shiny, _glassy_ – "And _I'm_ in love with you, and I'm ready. This is more than I deserve, Carrots."

"Stop."

"What?"

" _That._ Acting like you don't deserve happiness," she jabs. "You are worth it, you know. You've done more for me than _I_ deserve."

He pinches the furrow between his brows. There's another denial poised behind his lips, but he tosses it. Not wanting to delve into useless back-and-forth affirmation. So Nick keeps it simple. "And what have I done, Hopps?"

Eyeing him wryly, she sighs, "Oh, I don't know. How about being so understanding about _my_ feelings and hormones and accepting of everything at the beginning? And having sex with me?"

"Hardly a punishment," he laughs.

"And teaching me how to apply musk mask?"

"I still don't get why you _insisted_ on using the ones made for foxes."

"They're stronger than the ones made for rabbits!" she grunts, snorting a laugh into his ribs. "And they're cheaper too."

"Hmm. Who would have thought?"

"And for making me fall in love with you."

"You made me fall in love with you too," he shrugs, shoulders made lighter without the load of doubt.

"Good."

"So, Hopps," he says, nudging her. "Not like I'm complaining, but what brought you here tonight to inspire all this? A guy would like a warning if you come banging into his apartment and getting him all emotional. Mind you, if you do or say one more nice thing I might just cry."

"Then can I go back to making jokes about–" Nick pokes her side and she yips – " _Ah!_ Okay! Okay! I won't. _"_

"I'd actually much rather cry."

"Sorry, sorry. Never again. I promise," Judy assures. And she's back to whispering. This time for the air of secrecy. "But I love you for more than just your dick, you know."

It's not supposed to sound so romantic. Yet it does. Because when he tears apart the phrase, _really_ listens, all he hears is _I love you_ , and _more than you know_. And he repeats this, silently, like a type of well-kept secret. But he shares it. "I love you so much," he states. "I'm in love with you…I'm _in love_ with you. And I should have said it _at the door_. Right when you said it. That way I didn't have to have it all swirling around in my head." She grows hot against his chest, _blushing_ , and he smells the subtle shift in her aroma. The pheromones speaking louder than words. "You still good there, Fluff?"

"Mhmm," she hums, sitting up on the mattress. "And to answer your question, I _did_ come here because of something."

"Oh?"

Feebly, she rustles around in her rucksack, discarded near his nightstand, lifting out a red textbook with a drawing of a rabbit on it. She presses the book into his palms, and his spine curves over it as he tries to decipher what it even is. It's thick. Heavy. And his arms grow limp because they're crushed by the mass of it. "When Somebunny's Ready by Margaret O'Hare?" he asks.

Her nose twitches, and he fights the urge to _boop_ it. "Nick, I just- don't judge me, okay? I've been reading that lately, and…well, just look through it," Judy snips.

He flips through the pages, skimming pictures and Betty Clucker-esque quotes: _"In heat today? Date your mate! Finding a mate and settling down is one of life's greatest pleasures!"_ and _"Even if you're ready for sex, abstinence is the true key to purity!"_ The diagrams pictured almost seem childish. It's a blur of bright colors, clean lines, and a bunch of same-species couples – all rabbits – holding paws. Nick imagines church elders and adolescent bunnies in the 1950s; flipping through this book, being shocked by its perceived lewdness. He sees the anatomy of a rabbit penis (quipped with: _"No fur and lies, boys. Just fertilize!"_ ), and questions the moral fiber of anyone who can get turned on after reading a book as jarring as this one.

Everything about the book seems nearly comical, but instead, the frayed pages and the _weight_ of it beg for a tone of seriousness. Like a relic pasted in from another world, another time. So out of respect, Nick just stares at the thing in wonder. "Wow, this is… _something_ ," he marvels. "Where'd you get this?"

"It's from high school health class."

"Ah, makes sense. And this made you want to come here tonight?"

She shrugs. And for a second, Judy goes timid again. Crouching on his bed, she frowns down at his sheets. "Yeah."

"Huh. Well, this is definitely… _something_."

"Nick," she laughs, pointing to a small post-it note protruding from the side of the pages. "Check here. I bookmarked this page for a reason."

He lifts it and pores over the pockmarked pages, no doubt weathered by humidity and mold. But he starts to read what she'd pointed out:

 _ **Chapter Ten – Bonded Rabbits:**_ _Finding the right mate takes time and partnering. But once the greatest love all is found, it forms an indelible relationship! Go prosper now, because separating will prove calamitous. |_

And then:

| **_Chapter Five – Ovulation:_** _In more rare cases, a female rabbit's estrus cycle_ _ **can**_ _be induced in the absence of sexual mating. A close companion can spur strong feelings of partnership and security, thus instigating a heat cycle without any physical mating to prompt it._ |

He continues to read. Look. And then –

 _Sees._

"I think it's always been you, Nick. Even though it pretty much explains what I just said, I thought it'd be more of a consolation if you read it from a book," she explains. "Like it would make you believe everything a little bit more."

"Come on, fluff. Don't go all nerdy on me. You know I'd take your word for it, regardless of 1950s era psychoanalyses." He rolls his eyes. Not because he's annoyed, or mad, or feeling like taking a dig. But because _rolling their eyes_ is what they do. It's them. And it's yet another silent way of saying _I love you._ He realizes how good he's got it, because as much as he falls victim to doubt, she'll be there to save him with her assurances. "You think I'd believe this was a more credible source than you?"

"Umm…yes?" she responds shyly.

"You're cute when you worry, you know that?"

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are," he goads, falling back onto the pillow. "You get those lines between your eyebrows that look like two parentheses" – and with a claw, he draws curves in the air – "It's adorable."

Judy follows suit and curls into him. "You're still the only mammal allowed to call me that."

"Understood. And, good," he smirks. "It's my right as your boyfriend."

And his body just rolls with it. His tongue uncurls, and _boyfriend_ slips right off of it like it's the most casual, uncalculated thing in the world.

"As your _girlfriend_ ," she lingers on the word, and Nick just lets it settle, "It is my right to allow this small exception."

And his world – the one where it's just the two of them fighting crime and sitting on crumpled sheets – rights itself. Something stirs in him, and he can feel himself coming back. Regaining a footing in something that's not entirely new, but doesn't exactly feel old either. They're doing nothing in the right order (First sex, then _I love you_ , then dating, then " _boyfriend-girlfriend_ "), but again, Nick and Judy is unorthodox as they come. What's important is they're _here._

"Can't wait for our date, by the way," she adds.

"Mmm," he nods. "Me either."

"Still not telling me where we're going?"

" _Nope._ And you'll never find out either, super sleuth."

"Jerk."

"And you still got no clue."

"Hah!" she laughs. "You must not know me well enough then. Mark my words, I'm going to defeat my boyfriend."

There it is. _Boyfriend._ Again. And all of a sudden, it triggers something and sends a bolt of heat through him. Just like that, Nick has fully returned. The word being such a god damn turn on that he can feel himself getting hard at just the thought of –

"Um, Nick? I can feel you on my leg," she whispers, giggling.

"Oops. Sorry."

Judy doesn't seem to mind though. Her eyes have gone dark and carnal. Lured by his reawakening, she gradually rolls over onto his chest and looks at him. "Welcome back, Wilde."

He is. Nicholas Wilde is _back_. And for tonight, it relevantly applies to a great number of things.


End file.
